Whistler's Choice
by WitchGirl
Summary: As children, a strange man visited different individuals, asking them all the same question. Each had different reactions. And two were chosen to lead them all. Chapter One: Tom


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Whistler's Choice

Summary: As children, a strange man visited different individuals, asking them all the same question. Each had different reactions. And two were chosen to lead them all.

Note: Nothing is mine. Whistler was, shall we say, borrowed from a television show on the WB. Those who recognise him, good for you.

Chapter One: Tom

Screams. Piercing screams drilled into his mind and bright green light… He thought he should be terrified, but a strange sensation was washing over him. He felt… avenged. He felt justified and almost happy as the blood stained the earth and ivy twisted around the rotting corpses, thriving in the battle's wake.

And then, he awoke, surrounded by those who regarded him as a hypnotising monster, in a place that was all he had known and all he had hated.

Tom Riddle took deep, shaking breaths and stepped out of his head. He went over to the sink and splashed the cool water onto his face, washing away the unwelcome heat and sweat. He looked up at the mirror and jumped. Behind him stood a man in a rimmed hat and dark jacket.

"Hello, Tom," he said. Tom frowned and turned.

"You're a Yank," he accused. The man laughed.

"You're a quick one, aren't you? I'm from New York, thank you."

"What are you doing here?" The man looked around the room at all the sleeping bodies and sighed.

"Walk with me," he ordered and Tom felt like he should.

The two walked in silence for a moment, down the dark and deserted halls when they came to a room.

"The girl's dormitory," Tom said. "What do you want in here?" The man walked over to a young girl with dark red hair and Tom followed.

"That's Lucy," Tom said. The man nodded.

"You like her, don't you?"

"She's my only friend. The only one who doesn't view me as a freak." The man smiled.

"She follows you. Like the others."

"The others don't know what they're doing. They're sheep. She's different. Who are you?" It had just occurred to Tom to ask that question. The man chuckled.

"Name's Whistler. And I have a question for you."

"Really?" Tom folded his arms. "What kind of question?" Whistler sighed and looked out the window.

"You have a choice, Tom. You will change the world. But it's your decision how you change it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll show you," said Whistler. "I'll show you what you can have."

In an instant, Tom was at the top of the steps arguing with the red haired kleptomaniac.

"It's only a little necklace, Tom. She won't notice."

"They'll notice and you will get in trouble. You'll be put on the street, Lucy. They said one more time and they'd throw you out and I don't want to lose you. You can save me from these monsters."

"You're so protective. The others will stand by your side."

"They don't know what they're doing," Tom spat. "They follow me because they think I know things. They think I can give them things that I can never give them. Protection, for one. But I'm beaten by Jordan and his group every day and no one thinks to protect me. They're stupid sheep who can't protect their herder from wolves, though he protects the sheep from the wolves all the time. They're too bloody scared that they'll get eaten."

Lucy smiled. "I'll swipe you a pocket watch. Would you like that? A nice gold one. Mr. Harrison keeps one in his drawer."

"No more stealing, Lucy, I'm serious," Tom said, sternly. "You'll be forced to leave me."

"I'd never leave you, Tom," she said. "I'd follow you until the ends of the—"

"Lucy Osbourne!" Lucy stiffened and her eyes grew wide as she looked over Tom's shoulder and saw the approaching figure if Miss Halliwell walking sternly towards them. Tom turned around and greeted her normally.

"Good afternoon, Miss Halliwell," he said. "What are you—" But Miss Halliwell tossed him aside and grabbed Lucy by her collar.

"Where's that bloody necklace, Miss Osbourne?!" Miss Halliwell hissed. Lucy shrugged.

"I don't know what you're speaking about, Miss Halliwell," Lucy said in a voice that was sugary sweet. Miss Halliwell growled like a dog at her.

"You give me that necklace this instant, Osbourne, and I will be lenient on your punishment. You won't be put on the streets." But Lucy stood by her ignorance.

"Necklace, why, I don't own a necklace. I've never owned much in my life." Miss Halliwell laughed.

"That's right," she said. "You steal everything you have. That necklace was my grandmother's, Osbourne, and either you give it to me right now and I will forget it, or I make sure you are thrown out." Lucy glanced at Tom, who seemed to urge her to give up the necklace. But she said nothing.

"I don't—"

"Why, you…"

"I have your necklace, Miss Halliwell," Tom spoke. Miss Halliwell turned.

"_You _have it, Riddle?" Tom nodded.

"I found it on the ground." The moment Miss Halliwell turned her gaze away from her, Lucy made a break for it. She dashed down the stairs and Miss Halliwell was after her in an instant as she ran after her.

"Come back her girl!" she cried as she grabbed the back of her dress. Lucy screamed and Miss Halliwell lost her grip.

"LUCY!" Tom shrieked in horror. Lucy fell forward and her body rolled down the stairs, her head banging on every step. There was a loud snap like the crack of a whip and Tom and Miss Halliwell froze.

Lucy lay at the foot of the stairs in an odd position, her uniform torn from nails in the steps. Her neck was bent at an eerily wrong angle. Out of her blouse pocket tumbled a gold chain and charm.

"Gracious… goodness, I… She… Oh my…" Miss Halliwell ended in a choked gasp as she ran to the bottom of the steps. She examined the girl, then looked to the top of the stairs at Tom, her dark eyes wide and her complexion pale.

"She's dead," she whispered.

The situation changed. The black halls of the orphanage faded away and Tom found himself sitting in silence in a cushy chair, placed in a room with a fire blazing. No one spoke to him. There was a funny feeling people had about Tom. Almost as if he liked to be isolated from the others. There was a strange far away look about his eyes, as if he were lost in his own world. Some said he was crazy. Others said he was a genius, because of the outstanding marks he got in his classes. Geniuses are often crazy.

One girl had sworn that she had heard him playing the violin late one night. She had come down to the common room and seen him. But he had stopped and turned his head to look straight at her. It had sent chills down her spine and she climbed up to her room.

But Tom had a knack for gathering people's interest. He had people who admired him. One always had an opinion of Tom Riddle. One either hated and feared him, or respected and praised him. Those were the black and white terms to decide if Tom was friend or foe. For his whole life. But one person had actually seen him as a human being and loved him for it. And that person was dead.

There wasn't a day in which Tom did not think of her. Even as he sat in that chair, staring at the fire, he thought of her. But a fight broke out and broke his concentration.

"You can't hit me," a blonde boy sneered at a young girl. "You're just a girl." He punched her in the face and she stepped back with a cry.

"I can hit you!" she screamed at him. "You're only a worm, after all. And that's worse than a girl." But she didn't hit him. Instead, he knocked her down.

"It's here you make a choice."

Tom looked up to see Whistler standing beside the chair, watching the fight.

"What do you mean?"

"You can interfere and help her," said Whistler, "or you can interfere and help _him._"

The girl that was being attacked had dark red hair.

"It's only a petty fight."

"But it starts you off," said Whistler. "Whatever choice you make can change your destiny."

"I don't understand…"

"No one ever does," Whistler chuckled. "It's my curse."

Tom stood up and walked over to the two.

"Hey!" he said. They both stopped and looked up at him, surprised. Tom hesitated, then looked at the red haired girl. A hand seemed to grip his heart and squeeze the life out of it. Whistler watched, waiting. Finally, Tom sighed.

"Finish the bitch off, man," he said. "I'm going to bed."

He blamed her for his pain. Forgiveness was never an issue. He would never rest. And she would never stop torturing him.

Tom awoke from his bed with a strange sensation. He remembered Whistler. But as to his dreams, he remembered nothing.

Two years later, Lucy Osbourne fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Though Tom had witnessed it, Agnes Halliwell was never charged.


End file.
